Fading Dawn
by Firetoflame
Summary: Lawless and untamed, the West is exactly the kind of place a lady can disappear. And that's exactly what Esme Platt, daughter of a wealthy railroad mogul, plans to do when she discovers that not only is her fiance a mean-spirited man but that he intends to buy her father's company out from under him. Fleeing West, will a handsome doctor get her to stay? Or will she keep running?


Esme Platt stared across the rugged plains of the Colorado territory. By night, the train had taken a moonless journey west, each dawn bringing with it new and wondrous landscapes. Hills grew out of the flatlands, stately homes and brick city streets disappeared, and finally, mountains took form on the horizon, each one covered with peaked snow caps and dense carpets of trees. She was days into her journey and the moon had finally taken shape again, a silver crescent between the valleys and dips of the mountain tops as the train continued on.

Tonight sleep evaded her as it so often did on the train. The jarring rumble of the wheels against the track would break her from dreams and she finally resigned herself to watching the stars fade across the sky.

When the first pink streaks of daylight appeared, she found herself drifting off, only to be awoken by a porter calling out for breakfast. The sharp rap on the door caught her attention and she almost rolled from the berth as she came to her senses.

"Miss Platt, shall I make you up a plate?"

"Oh, no thank you," she replied hastily, climbing from the berth and slipping into the silk sleeves of her robe. Tying it tight over her sleepwear, she tucked an errant curl behind her ear and popped the door open an inch. It was barely enough room to make out the tall figure standing outside her door.

He was dressed in a finely pressed uniform with a tag clipped to his shirt bearing the name George. His skin was dark, but his eyes were bright and kind. His smile stretched across his face and made her think of Lottie, the cook back home who always snuck her dessert no matter how long she stayed in the garden to play as a girl.

"Good morning, Miss." He tipped his hat to her.

"George, is it?" she said with the tiniest hint of a smirk. Every porter she had greeted so far was named George after the company's founder. "What is your given name, may I ask?"

"Isaiah, Miss, if it pleases you." His smile curled a bit at one side. "Though don't go spreading it around."

"Oh, I shouldn't wish to. I only wanted to let you know that I'll take my breakfast in the dining car this morning."

"Very well, Miss. I'll put up the berth while you eat."

"Thank you, that would be very much appreciated." Though she was tired and surely by the time she was finished with breakfast she'd most likely feel like lying down again, Esme knew better than to refuse the help of the porters when offered. The berths were such tricky things to manage when one wasn't quite tall enough to reach. "And Isaiah, how long would you say until we reach Denver?"

"Oh, not long now Miss. A few hours at most."

"So soon?"

He nodded once and tipped his hat again. "I'll leave you to it."

Esme closed the door and leaned against it, hand on the wall as the train took a bend. The wilderness pressed in ever closer, which made sense seeing as they were approaching their destination. _Denver_. She hadn't exactly thought about it when she'd first applied for the job, only that she had to get as far away from Columbus as she could and Colorado was just that.

Slipping out of her robe, Esme threw open her trunks, sifting through her bulkier dresses and opting for something simpler. The green dress was trimmed without the usual fuss of bows and ribbons, but it matched her eyes and she'd always been partial to the shorter hem. It made walking far easier.

The further away the big city life got, the less she felt required to indulge in the usual social graces as her mother would put it. When she finally reached Forks Ridge, the tiny little town that had sprung up about twenty years ago thanks to a silver mine, she might even forgo the elaborate up-do as well. Her mother would be scandalized to see her with her hair in a simple twisted knot and it made something flutter in the pit of her stomach.

Not quite nerves, but just as exciting.

Truth be told, Esme wasn't quite certain whether she should be excited or nervous. Her venture west, though necessary as far as she could see, had not begun the way she once thought it might. Instead of the blessing to pursue a teaching job, she'd run away without telling anyone, leaving behind a fiance who was quick to anger and far too dependent on spirits, but also set to steal from her father the first chance he got.

Charles Evenson was a mean-spirited man and only the letter in her pocket—found in the cushion of the couch where he had sat beside her one night—could save her now. The once-secret pact kept by her fiance spoke of a deal to outbid her father's latest railroad endeavour by buying up enough company shares to outvote him and it was the one thing she held against Charles.

He'd turned in a rage when she confronted him about it but by then his hands were tied. If he pushed for marriage, she would reveal the letter to her father.

If he attempted to buy up the company from beneath her father, she'd reveal him.

She knew Charles wasn't a patient man, but he'd watched her walk away that night, the muscle in his jaw twitching. Even now the bruises where he'd grabbed her arm were still fading, nasty blue and black splotches against her skin.

Fear of him, of that anger he possessed, had finally sealed her decision. She could hold the letter over Charles, but if she revealed him it would ruin him financially and she did fear the retribution of a man who had nothing else to lose. And if she held onto the letter and stayed in Columbus, she'd have no recourse but to marry him. As far as her parents were concerned, Charles was a wonderful man to take her on and the engagement would stand. At twenty-six she was past the age for sweet courting. According to her mother, it was time for her to be married off and having children of her own.

Children she wanted desperately, but never with Charles.

She sighed, smoothing down the front of her dress. In the end, she'd gotten what she'd always wanted—the chance to teach children, the chance to see the country, to ride as far as the railroad would take her. To see the mountains stacked so high it left her breathless.

Of course, she'd left a mess in her wake. But she'd write to her parents once she was settled and some time had passed. She'd explain everything.

And, if her prayers were answered, Charles Evenson would move on, both with his interest in her and his interest in her father.

But until then, she would just have to make do with this new life. That thought brought a glimmer of hope and as the train crested another bend, Esme made her way to the dining car, feeling somewhat more at ease. Nothing could touch her out here, not her fiance's swift hand or the well-meaning, but misguided intentions of her family.

No, this land was rugged and new, far too untamed for anyone in her social circle to find her and most definitely not Charles Evenson.

* * *

The train spewed a thick cloud of grey smoke as Esme made her way across the platform. There was a coach set to leave for Forks Ridge in a half hour and she was set to be on it. Though a night in a Denver hotel promised hot water and an even hotter meal, she was anxious to make her way to her new home.

Not only that, but the Sheriff was expecting her. She'd been in correspondence with a Mr. Emmett McCarty since accepting the teaching position some weeks ago. And knowing she was set to arrive today, he had insisted on facilitating her first night in town.

She had no idea what that meant, only that she hoped for more than a jail cell bed.

Still, the thought of it turned a kind of humour inside her. Wouldn't that just be the kind of adventure she ought to have on her first night?

"Ma'am? You coming aboard?"

Esme blinked, scanning a pair of dusty boots. She looked up, for a while it seemed, into the face of a tall, blond stranger. His hair was long and waved behind his ears and his drawl was deep and southern.

He had a constant sort of smirk that spoke of someone who observed more than he spoke and Esme decided that she liked him right away. If not for the wide-brimmed and sun-bleached rancher hat that adorned his head, then for the revolver that fit snug over his hip. He was the very definition of a cowboy in every dime novel she had ever read. And though she didn't put much stock in dime stories, she was not disappointed to find some truth to the picture.

"Name's Jasper Whitlock." He held out his hand to her and she took it. Far more familiar was it than greeting someone new back home, though here she suspected things occurred somewhat differently. After all, it's not as if she had a chaperone to facilitate an introduction for her. His grip was light, the pads of his hands rough.

"Miss Esme Platt," she said.

"Nice to make your acquaintance, Miss Platt. I'll be driving the stagecoach in. I saw you perusing the sign over there."

"Yes, I'm supposed to be headed to Forks Ridge today. Would you have room on your stage?"

"How much luggage did you bring?"

Esme eyed the top of the stage, already brimming with brightly coloured boxes.

"Only the two," she said, nodding to the brown trunks that a porter had left on the platform for her. In the end, she realized most of what she possessed would do her no good out here. If she was to start a new life, it would have to start with the basics.

"I think I can accommodate," he said, scooping up her trunks easily. "Why don't you get settled. We leave on the half hour."

Esme nodded, following Mr. Whitlock to the stage. He dropped her trunks, kicking up dust as he pulled the door open for her and offered a hand. His team consisted of two horses, both sleek brown in colour and they nodded and brayed, eager to be on the road it seemed.

"How long is it to Forks Ridge?"

"Four hours . . . depending on the roads."

Esme glanced at the sky, an endless mirror of cloudless blue. If the roads were anything but passable she'd—

Perhaps he didn't mean the roads at all. She'd heard about stages being robbed. Tales such as those always reached the papers back east. Suddenly the gun on his hip seemed less intriguing.

She sat back in her seat, forcing a smile. "Thank you, Mr. Whitlock."

"My pleasure, ma'am. And don't you fret, I'll get you to Forks in one piece. Ain't nothing stopped me yet."

* * *

The first hour of the journey seemed to fly by. Esme was enamoured with the landscape and spent much of her time pushing the curtain back to peer outside without disturbing the rest of the people in the stage.

She was sharing a bench with an older woman. She was tall and well dressed, as were the other two passengers—a boy who looked several years her junior and an older man.

"Edward," the older man whispered, "put that away, son. You've been staring at it since we left Chicago."

Esme caught a glimpse of intricately written sheet music as the young man fumbled with his papers. The older woman smiled gently at him. "I'm told the church has a piano. I'm sure they'd be happy to have you play."

"I don't see why we couldn't have just brought the one from home."

"We'll only be here a few months, son. Not forever. Surely you'll survive."

The young man sighed, leaning his head back against the headboard and letting his eyes flutter closed.

Esme caught the woman's eye and they smiled at each other. "Doing some travelling?" the woman asked.

"Yes, in fact," Esme said. "I'll be teaching at the schoolhouse in Forks Ridge in a few weeks."

"Ah," the woman said, something registering in her face. "My sister mentioned a new teacher was on her way. The town's very excited. I'm Mrs. Elizabeth Masen, by the way. This is my husband Edward and my son—"

"Also, Edward," the young man said, eyes closed but with a smile on his lips.

His father nudged him with his elbow and the young man opened his eyes and offered her a playful smile. "How do you do?"

"Very well, thank you. I'm Miss Esme Platt."

"That's better," Mr. Masen grumbled. "Just because we're spending a few months in the wild doesn't mean you can start acting like one of these unseemly gentlemen, Edward."

The young man laid his head back and closed his eyes again. "Yes, father."

"Darling, it's not the wild. Mildred says it's become quite the little place."

"It's filthy and lawless. My goodness, Elizabeth, I can't believe you convinced me to come here at all."

Mrs. Masen shot her husband a look. "Would you have had me come on my own? All alone in this lawless and unforgiving country?"

The young man smirked. His father spluttered, but instead of responding to his wife, he simply opened the paper that had rested on his lap.

Mrs. Masen shot Esme a wink. "Do you have much experience teaching?" she asked.

"Oh, not much. It was quite the ordeal to get my parents to let me come this far. They wanted me to stay in Columbus and marry." The lie wasn't difficult to tell. She suspected the truth would have been though, so she kept her story vague.

"Marriage. A right fine idea," Mr. Masen said.

"Don't listen to him," Mrs. Masen whispered. "My sister Mildred has lived out here for almost twelve years now. Her letters always stir the most impressive emotions. She left home one day and never looked back. She still insists it was the best thing she ever did."

"Marrying a rancher?" Mr. Masen grumbled. "Who didn't even have the capital to keep a ranch?"

Ms. Masen rolled her eyes. "Not all of her decisions were . . . completely sound. But she's lived a happy life. She and her husband run the general store now. I'm sure you'll meet them."

"Oh, yes," the young man piped up. "Auntie Millie is a dream."

"You loved her when you were young," Mrs. Masen said.

"Because I was impressionable and survived off gumdrops. She still thinks I am nine years old with a sweet tooth."

Mrs. Masen sighed at her son. "Millie never could have children of her own. But they've got a young lady working with them now—Alice I think it was. She says she's just a doll. The sweetest thing you ever did see, if not just the tiniest bit odd."

"Odd could mean anything with your sister," her husband mumbled.

"As long as she doesn't intend to marry me off to her," Edward junior added.

"Oh, you two," Mrs. Masen declared. "Pay them no mind, dear. You're going to have a wonderful time in Forks Ridge."

"And if you don't," young Edward said, catching Esme's eye, "you can always go home."

* * *

 **A/N:** So . . . I definitely didn't intend to write another Carlisle/Esme fic so soon . . . but I've been reading a lot of historical romance based in the Old West lately and then I watched Phantom of the Opera and then followed it up with Love Never Dies, so there was too much forbidden romance, love junk in my head to be healthy. Since then this story has been floating around inside my head. Going to see if anything comes of it. In case it's not clear, there are definitely no vampires in this story. But there are gun-fights and horses and crippling disease and the Pinkertons and as many other cliche Wild West things as I can fit into one story. So . . . there. I don't know. I'm going to bed. I have to work in the morning. Cheers. 3


End file.
